Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Rose
My watch vibrates with a text from my friend, Lucinda, just as I asked.
They're about five minutes away. They dropped me off at Dr. Flores' house about an hour ago while they grabbed groceries for our camping trip.
We're heading to Gardner State Park to unwind before school starts again.
It's our last chance this summer to be normal people our age.
Normal. The word doesn't sit right with me anymore.
I've worn the mask for so long that I don't remember who I was before it.
This trip is supposed to be an escape before another grueling year of medical school, yet even the thought of it feels like I'm stepping into someone else's life instead of my own.
Still, my thoughts aren't on the trip. I can feel him watching me.
His unrelenting stare prickles across my skin like static before a storm.
It burrows beneath the surface, impossible to ignore.
I shift in my seat, pretending it doesn't affect me.
It shouldn't. But it does, and I hate that.
No one gets under my skin anymore. I made sure of that.
My face remains blank. The mask I built years ago holds, just as it always has.
Silence was all I had as a helpless child left to the mercy of adults who should have protected me.
Then came the anger directed at those who refused to help me.
Except for him. He recognized the same kind of damage in me that lived in him.
He didn't offer comfort or empty reassurances wrapped in pretty words.
He acted. He rid the world of a waste of space.
And for that, I will forever owe him. When no one else would help me, he did.
So I wear my armor. People think I’m cold and detached.
They may be right in their assumptions. But they didn’t see what I saw.
They didn’t live through what I did. They don’t understand what love becomes when it twists into control and when affection turns into fear.
That lesson never left me. So I remind myself not to feel because feelings are the first crack in the armor. And I can’t afford cracks.
And yet now, being near him, having him look at me like he wants to consume me whole, makes my pulse betray me. Can he hear it? How loud it beats for him? Just thinking of the way his eyes held mine, the unspoken promise behind that stare, makes my body come alive after so long of feeling nothing.
Lucinda's car pulls into the driveway, breaking whatever had passed between us. I’m quick to slip from my seat, needing the distance before I forget why I came here in the first place.
I was beginning to dissolve under Alex’s heated stare.
My body was responding in ways I didn’t understand.
I hope it wasn’t obvious, but when he says he’ll walk me out, my stomach drops.
I say my goodbyes to the only people, besides my aunt, who ever cared enough to protect me.
The urge to stay wars with the instinct to leave, pushing me forward before I can hesitate.
Because I know that if I give in to this between us, it will ruin me in a way I won’t recover from.
When he has the audacity to say he wants to meet up at school, the image of the pink-haired girl running down his stairs flashes through my mind.
There is no doubt she was coming out of his bedroom. She had that thoroughly fucked look, and I can only hope I interrupted whatever they had going on. I stopped myself from inhaling as she passed, hoping she wasn’t carrying his scent with her.
I have no right to care. We've known each other for less than an hour.
That realization irritates me almost as much as the jealousy itself.
More than that, why do I even care? Does he think I'm a fool?
The words that leave my mouth come from anger, though I don't understand why.
He hasn't done anything wrong, but my heart doesn't want to take the risk.
The clammy unease that follows tells me exactly why.
He's dangerous in all the ways that matter.
He sees right through me and accepts the unspoken challenge.
When he says she isn't his girlfriend, a brief wave of relief slips through before I can stop it.
Somehow, that feels more intimate than if he'd kissed me, because I know he saw it.
I hate myself for the momentary lapse in judgment.
So I rebuild the wall, sealing every crack before anything else can slip through.
I do what I do best. I push him away. I taunt him, but it only makes him smile.
That wicked smile spreads across his face, slashing at my heart and painting it in shades of sin.
His tall frame looms closer, and for one fleeting second, I want to reach up and push back the strand of hair that’s fallen across his perfect face, just as he did to me.
We are so in sync, I shudder. Instead, I step back, forcing distance between us despite what my body wants.
He is dangerous. His shadows call to mine, whispering tendrils of pitch-black that speak of promises.
As I walk away, I swear to do everything in my power to stay away from Alexander, even though part of me already wants a taste of his darkness.
The front storm door shuts behind me with finality, and I all but run away with a playful smile tugging at my lips.
The sound echoes as I hurry down the sidewalk, desperate to get away from that house.
But mostly to get away from him. Lucinda is in the driver’s seat, and Chelsea is riding shotgun.
Maxwell sits in the back, holding the door open as I slide into the car’s cool interior.
His eyes flick from my face to the house I just fled, then back again.
There's curiosity in his stare, but it passes. Alex’s never did.
He wants to ask. I can see it. But I don't owe him anything, and I think he knows that.
“Let’s go,” I say, my voice flat, leaving no room for questions.
Lucinda scoffs, but gets the hint, tossing a pack of Twizzlers into my lap before cranking the volume.
Taylor Swift’s “The Fate of Ophelia” floods the car.
Maxwell groans beside me, and the awkward moment dissolves, replaced by the anticipation of this much-needed escape before the grind of third-year medical school.
“Not again,” he mutters, and despite myself, a small laugh slips out.
I still love the album, even having listened to it a hundred times.
I tear open the pack of Twizzlers, pull one free, and twirl the red strand between my fingers.
The waxy crimson catches the light. It’s my favorite color.
It matches my lips, toes, and fingers. For a moment, I wonder if that’s a coincidence or fate.
I press the candy between my lips, aware of Maxwell watching me.
He likes to watch. He thinks I don't notice. I’ve given him my body, but nothing more.
I can feel his attention on me. When I glance over, Maxwell’s eyes are fixed on my mouth.
Typical. His mind is already somewhere it shouldn’t be.
I bite off the tip of the Twizzler slowly, and when his gaze drifts up to meet mine, I hold it, smiling knowingly.
He swallows hard, adjusting himself as he looks away first. Satisfied, I turn back to the window, letting my attention drift to the passing scenery.
The car winds along the narrow path, and low-hanging trees press close on either side.
Shadows stretch across the road beneath the late afternoon sun.
Garner State Park should feel like freedom, with the open air, the rush of the river, and the scent of bluebonnets and wildflowers carried on the breeze, but I can't shake what happened back at Dr. Flores' house.
I should be thinking about the weekend ahead, yet every idle moment fills with thoughts of Alexander instead.
His voice remains in the back of my mind, each word carrying the weight of a promise I never asked him to make, threading itself through the laughter and conversation filling the car.
The farther we drive, the more impossible it becomes to convince myself I've left him behind.
We pull up to the cabins, which sit tucked beside it.
Weathered units face each other across a small clearing.
Between them, a fire pit waits in the center, ringed with cinder blocks, blackened over the years from old flames.
Beyond, a wide slab of rock sits, exposed to the full sun.
The metallic pieces glint in the stone, and I stride over to it for the promise of its warmth.
I step out, letting the heat crawl up my leg as I sit there, pretending to be absorbed in the sunlight and feigning calm.
I’m not calm. My body hums with his memory.
His voice, the curve of his lips, the focus in his stare all stay with me.
I don't know what to do with any of it, so I let the thoughts circle until they've occupied every corner of my mind.
Even across miles of open space encompassing thousands of acres, the feel of him is still there, his shadow beside mine, weaving its phantom limbs on the breeze as it lifts my hair, blowing it around.
The rush of the water nearby fills my ears, drowning out my thoughts, and for a brief moment, I almost forget.
I hear footsteps approaching, breaking me free of my intrusive thoughts.
I don’t have to look to know who it is. Maxwell’s gait is confident.
Years of getting everything he wants, combined with a long-standing history of family wealth, have helped make him feel invincible.
His strides are long, carried by his muscular legs, cultivated by spending hours in the gym, shaping his body into the perfect form.
One I take in and can’t help but admire as his sneakers stop before me.
Maybe that’s what I need—a distraction. When I finally glance up at his body, his hands are shoved into his pockets.
His smile is perfectly casual. I’ve learned what smiles like that hide, the secrets, expectations, and small deceptions dressed up as charm and well-bred pedigree.
He steps beside me, waiting for what I’m not sure.
Perhaps it’s an invitation to sit. Reluctantly, I sigh and scoot over on the rock, giving him space he hasn’t earned next to me.
He lowers himself too close for comfort, folding his long legs that touch mine, resting his arms across his knees, and angling his body toward me.
I can feel him watching, words perched at the edge of his tongue.
He’s deciding whether to speak. Whether it’s a good time to ask the question he’s been wanting to ask since we started this trip together.
But if you remain silent and listen, people will tell you everything without you needing to say a word.
And I can feel it, his moment rising, yet I wait for it, cringing inwardly and dreading it.
“So,” he says, testing the air between us.
When I don’t answer, he takes it as his opportunity.
He clears his throat, fingers brushing the back of his neck.
He’s nervous. It’s one of his tells. When he finally speaks again, the words fall out all at once.
“I’d like to take our relationship to the next level. ”
The breath I didn’t know I was holding catches sharp in my throat.
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him.
I’m more stunned than anything else. What we have is easy.
A series of uncomplicated hookups that suit us both.
A way to blow off steam between studying sessions and intoxicating weekends at the bar.
Well, his anyway. There are no promises and no expectations.
It works because it means nothing, and it’s safe.
It was safe until now, that is. And then unbidden, I remember Alexander’s promise to see me around.
The way his eyes had held mine in a silent battle of wills over who would break eye contact first. I remember how I felt standing near him.
For a moment, I gave him a tiny glimpse of the real me.
The tiny crack in my carefully placed mask for just a second.
The one I promised never to let anyone see.
Because when you let someone in, they own a part of you.
I saw how that kind of love destroyed my mother.
It was a toxic love, and I won’t let that kind of love destroy me.
But with his voice still echoing in my head, and Maxwell’s face waiting expectantly in front of me, I do the very thing I promised myself I wouldn’t.
I ignore every screaming red flag, every warning flashing in my mind.
Maxwell is still talking, waiting for my answer, and undoubtedly listing the reasons why this is a good idea.
All I can think of is how different it is with him.
It’s predictable, boring, safe. I should tell him no.
But my body betrays me, and my mouth moves before my heart can intervene.
Anything is safer than whatever waits for me behind Alexander Flores’s eyes. “Okay,” I hear myself say, the words leaving my mouth before I have the chance to stop it.
His eyebrows rise, surprise flashing across his face before it’s smoothed away by a smile.
He looks like he’s won something. Maybe he has by default.
But as I watch him, one thing locks into place.
I will never love him. He’s the safer choice, and that’s all.
Dating him doesn't mean loving him. Those are two very different things. Love was never part of the bargain.
“Okay,” he repeats, sealing it.
I tell myself I've made the right decision. Maxwell is safe. Predictable. He'll never tempt me to lower the walls I've spent years building. He doesn't look at me the way Alex does, and that's exactly why I said yes.
So why does walking away from Alex feel less like choosing safety and more like abandoning something I was only beginning to understand?